'
His wallet contained a number of specimens; he plucked up the little plant
by the root, and stowed it away. I watched him with curiosity. Perhaps I
had seen only his public side; perhaps even then he was capable of dressing
roughly, and of rambling for his pleasure among fields and wood. But such a
possibility had never occurred to me. I wondered whether his brilliant wife
had given him a disgust for the ways of town. If so, he was a more
interesting man than I had supposed.
'Where are you staying?' he asked, after a glance this way and that.
I named the village, two miles away.
'Working?'
'Idling merely.'
In a few minutes he overcame his reserve and began to talk of the things
which he knew interested me. We discussed the books of the past season, the
exhibitions, the new men in letters and art. Ireton said that he had been
living at a wayside inn for about a week; he thought of moving on, and, as
I had nothing to do, suppose he came over for a few days to the village
where I was camped? I welcomed the proposal.
'There's an inn, I dare say? I like the little inns in this part of the
country. Dirty, of course, and the cooking hideous; but it's pleasant for a
change.
Pages:
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131